1. Weekday blues
1086 Words
1
Weekday blues
‘I’m coming!’
The man in the business suit had his hand in the air, waving it back and forth as though directing a plane to land. Carrying the tray in one hand, Grace Clelland weaved her way through the packed tables as the customer’s expression slowly changed from a peculiar look of frustration to one of outright anger.
She had only just lowered the tray to the table and begun to offload the drinks when he shook his head.
‘No, no, no. I ordered soy latte. This is whole milk.’
Grace looked at the glass of brown liquid topped with whipped cream and strawberry sauce, a little flag with the café’s logo poking triumphantly out of the top.
‘It says soy latte on the receipt,’ Grace said, nodding at the piece of paper poking out from underneath.
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
Grace gave a vehement shake of the head. ‘No, of course not. It’s just that the receipt says—’
The man poked a finger at the glass, tapping it with a manicured fingernail. ‘You can tell from the way the liquid swirls that it’s whole milk. Do you people think I’m stupid? What, do you save a quid or something? You think once I start to drink I won’t bother to complain?’
Grace had no words. She shook her head openmouthed, glancing up at the suit’s companions, two similarly attired men, their shirts alone worth more than a month of Grace’s salary, their hair ruffled in a magazine-styled way, stubble just apparent enough to suggest they liked to go canoeing or wilderness hiking in their free time when not running up millions on stock deals. Both pouted. One winked and turned up a corner of his mouth in a gesture which was equal parts come on and disgust. On top of the latte, the little flag began to tilt in a gesture of surrender.
‘What’s that accent anyway?’ the first man said, frowning again. ‘Romanian? A bit of a problem now they’re shutting the borders, isn’t it?’
Grace winced. ‘Cornwall.’
The man shrugged. ‘Same difference. All gypsies, aren’t you?’
Grace held her breath, resisting the urge to pitch the drink over the man’s expensive shirt. While her manager Don might approve, he would have to fire her in order to save money for the lawsuit.
‘I’ll get you a replacement, sir,’ Grace said, refusing to meet his eyes as she scooped the tray up and spun on her heels before she could think to do anything else. From behind her she heard a snigger.
‘Look, she’s got straw poking out of her skirt.’
‘O-da-lay-ha-ho.’
Snorts of laughter. Someone thumped the table top, and chair legs creaked as another man rocked back and forth.
Grace closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. A moment later the kitchen doors swung open and she entered the safety of the staff area.
‘The toff on table nine says we’ve used whole milk instead of soy,’ she said to no one in particular, quickly setting the tray down on the stainless steel unit before she gave in to her frustration and threw it down instead. ‘And he called me a gypsy. I’m going on a break.’
She headed for a back door that led out of the kitchen and into a short corridor which opened outside. She pulled off her apron and hat and pushed out through the doors into the Bristol sunshine. Two older waitresses were already outside, both smoking. Grace gave one a shrug, muttering, ‘Bankers lunchtime is the worst.’
‘Just one letter you need to replace and you’re there, dearie,’ said one of the other waitresses. ‘Never done a day of real work in their lives. It’s why they use computers. Their hands are so soft they get tissue cuts.’
Grace smiled, then took out her phone and walked a few paces up the alley, wanting to be alone. She pulled up her ongoing conversation with Joan and typed a quick message.
Weekday lunchtime blues … I’ve been hit on three times—two guys and one girl—asked the best place for a discount hair stylist, and told there’s a sale on in TK Maxx so I can upgrade my footwear. And I got called a gypsy.
There’s a sale on in TK Maxx?? There’s a train that leaves here in ten minutes. Call in sick tomorrow and we’re there.
Grace smiled, then typed her reply. All quiet down there?
Surf’s flat so we’ve got all the hunks in the café eating pasties. Air’s so full of testosterone I’m growing pecs just from breathing it in.
I need pictorial evidence.
Of my pecs?
Of the guys!
Joan was typing. Grace waited patiently for a reply, but the next message that flashed up wasn’t from Joan but from Gavin. She felt a little tingle in her stomach as she opened it, but it wasn’t want she was expecting.
We need to talk. Can you come over tonight?
Grace stared. They’d been dating just two months. It was the first message that she’d ever received without an xx. Something was up.
Seriously, it’s raining so the place is dead, but Blue Sands looks all right in the rain anyway, and there’s a ton of books on the stand that I haven’t read. I wish you’d come down and visit. I miss you so much.
What’s up?
It’s raining, I just told you. Forecast said sun so we ordered a ton of pasties in. Silver linings—who gets to eat them??
Grace frowned. Sorry, that was meant for Gavin. He just messaged me. He must have seen I was online.
Gavin? That’s the new guy? The guy with the Range Rover?
It’s a Rover Mini. But it’s only two years old. Yeah. The guy I met in the gym.
Smoooooooth….
Grace blushed. She glanced up at the other waitresses on break outside the doors, but one was smoking another cigarette and the other was having a loud conversation on her phone with a car rental firm.
It really wasn’t. I nearly spilled a coffee on him by the vending machine. Hang on, I just have to message him.
Is everything all right?
I’ll tell you later.
Grace felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was about to message Gavin against when the door opened behind her.
‘Clelland! This isn’t a working holiday!’
Grace raised a hand at Don, the manager, leaning around the back door. ‘I’m coming!’ she called.
I’ve got to go, she typed to Joan. And to Gavin, she said, I’ll call you later.
As she jogged for the back door, mentally steeling herself for another round of a***e from overpaid button pushers, her phone beeped once.
Love you, Joan’s message said. Please come and visit. It’s been too long.
- Writer
